


Cetera Desunt

by spire_cx



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spire_cx/pseuds/spire_cx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>civilization ends, and Sunggyu and Dongwoo struggle to fill the holes inside themselves where old dreams used to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cetera Desunt

When Dongwoo wakes he knows it is Thursday, and he knows Sunggyu has changed.

He knows it is Thursday because he must know it is Thursday. It's all he _can_ know, these days. He has the moon, the stars, and little else. If he did not know it was Thursday, everything would be lost.

He knows Sunggyu has changed because he can hear him bathing in the other room. He has stopped using the public bath. Instead he hauls his water ration up the seven flights of stairs to their apartment, sits on a bucket in the bathtub, and washes himself with an old t-shirt and a bar of soap that smells like clover.

He has stopped visiting the library. He used to read every night, whatever books they had. He used to help the girl who ran it. He used to fuck her too, Dongwoo knows, though he suspects that stopped long before the reading stopped. It's been months since Sunggyu told him he no longer sleeps with strangers.

He used to study every day. He used to sit at the window and practice kanji for hours. A pile of practice sheets still sits by the windowsill, each page covered in rows upon rows of characters written in his quick, purposeful hand. The topmost papers, held down with a stone, have gone black with dust.

Now, instead, he spends his time in the basements. There is work to be done, he says. It's true; there is always work. There is apparently work enough to keep him there all night, well beyond the hours he has been assigned, stacking cans, rationing water, double-checking stockpiles, making sure inventories are correct.

At first Dongwoo thought he was lying — that he wasn't working at all, that he had met someone and was having a scandalous affair. Then one day Yasuko came to tell Dongwoo she was worried.

"He works too much," she said. "Please make sure he rests."

Dongwoo tries. But he has work to do, too. There are many nights he's simply not there to stop Sunggyu from sorting vegetables until sunrise.

He came home with a burned hand yesterday, skin scalded to peeling shreds by the rainwater he was boiling. It's a nasty thing: red, blistered, angry, and so painful he can barely move his fingers. Dongwoo doesn't know how he managed to get his bathwater upstairs. He must have carried it over his shoulders somehow. How is he washing himself? Dongwoo imagines him sitting shivering in the bathtub with one bandaged hand held useless in the air.

The thought makes him want to cry. He was their _leader_.

Dongwoo gets out of bed, pads to the bathroom door, and opens it without knocking. Inside, Sunggyu is sitting on his bucket in the bathtub with one bandaged hand hanging over the edge. The large window is open to the morning, and in the sunlight his skin is bright like snow. 

"Do you need help?" Dongwoo asks.

Sunggyu only glances at him before returning his attention to the wet rag in his lap. He shakes his head. "No."

Outside the window there are birds twisting in a cool headwind and singing. Dongwoo tightens his grip on the doorknob. "Are you sure?"

Sunggyu wrings the makeshift washcloth out with his one good hand. Soapy water runs over his knuckles, veins, and tightened tendons, and splashes loudly down into the tub.

"At least let me wash your hair," Dongwoo says, keeping his voice low. He probably sounds like he's begging. Maybe he is begging.

"Ah, seriously," Sunggyu sighs. "Fine."

Sunggyu's head is hot under the lukewarm water. Dongwoo pours it over him with one hand and holds his skull tightly with the other, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. He scratches his scalp, runs his fingers through his hair, and touches every inch of him; it's good, it feels like a step in the right direction, but Sunggyu only stares at his feet, letting the water cascade over his face.

After his hair is washed, Dongwoo plucks the washcloth from Sunggyu's hand. "Here," he says. "Let me."

Sunggyu doesn't protest. He closes his eyes and lets Dongwoo scrub his shoulders, and arms, and back, and chest.

Dongwoo remembers the days when they would touch each other. He had liked touching Sunggyu, and had liked the way Sunggyu returned his affections, holding his hand and tickling under his chin and stroking the back of his neck. It was reassuring. It let him know he was wanted.

This touching is different. This is more desperate, underlaid as it is by those memories of the people they used to be. Dongwoo wishes it were otherwise—wishes he knew how to make his touch show Sunggyu he's still needed. But as he's washing his body he can feel the ridges of his ribs under his hands, and the hills and valleys of muscles he never used to have, and all of Dongwoo's words about the importance of Sunggyu's presence fall to dust in the face of his cold new utilitarian strength.

Afterward, he fetches Sunggyu's clothes for him. He helps him into his t-shirt and pulls on his socks and buttons his pants. "You're getting skinny," he says, running his fingers under Sunggyu's too-loose waistband. "We should talk to Yasuko about increasing your ration."

"I'm fine."

Sunggyu's eyes are bright like amber in the sunlight. His brow is furrowed and his jaw is set, but he's never been good at feigning indifference, and Dongwoo has known for years what it looks like when he's trying to be hard in the face of something that frightens him.

"Do you want to talk?" Dongwoo asks.

"There's nothing to talk about," Sunggyu says. He glances down at his hand and pulls on the bandage. "I have work to do, anyway."

He steps around Dongwoo and walks from the room.

"No," Dongwoo says, following him to the door.

Sunggyu puts on his shoes, not looking up at Dongwoo standing barefoot in the hall, arms hanging useless at his sides.

"I said no," Dongwoo says again, trying his hardest to sound imposing. "You need to rest your hand."

Sunggyu sighs. "Aish. Just quit it, will you? Don't be annoying. You're not my wife."

Dongwoo's heart twists in his chest.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he says.

Sunggyu stills; the room goes silent. Dongwoo hadn't meant to ask him that—not like this, not now, not in so many words. He's not surprised when Sunggyu throws him a venomous glare, shoves his keys and wallet in his pockets, and opens the door.

"I'm going," he says.

And he does.

Dongwoo stands and stares at the closed door for a long time, not sure where else to turn. From its surface he tries to parse out meaning. Perhaps in the texture of the paint he will see stars moving across the sky or comets swinging around the sun.

Soon his shoulder starts to ache. He doesn't notice the pain until he realizes he's trying to rub it away. Ah, he thinks. Rain's coming. It resonates in his bones—as soon as he feels it he sees the clouds, and understands their trajectory.

And things become more clear.

   
 

When Sunggyu returns it's late afternoon and pouring. He's sweaty—or wet, at least—and looks drawn and pale.

"Where were you?" Dongwoo asks, looking up from his notebooks.

Sunggyu leans against the wall and toes his shoes off. His stocking feet look small and vulnerable against the tile floor.

"Out," he says. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Are you okay?" Dongwoo puts his pencil down in the crease of the pages.

"I'm fine."

The bottoms of his jeans are wet to the knee. He stumbles over his own feet pulling them off and drapes them over the back of their only chair to dry. Dongwoo tries not to watch him, tries instead to stare down at his calculations and figure out what he wants to say to him, but in the end it's no good. It's Sunggyu, after all. Sunggyu his leader, falling apart in the green-and-gold light.

Sunggyu kneels in the pile of blankets he calls his bed and paws through a pile of sloppily-folded clothes. His movements are stiff and self-aware; Dongwoo knows he can probably feel him watching, gaze burning into his back between his shoulderblades.

Dongwoo turns away, watches instead the flame of his lantern as it wavers, flickering in and out.

"What are we doing here?" Sunggyu asks.

Dongwoo takes a deep breath against the wave of heartbreak that he knows he must bear in silence. He has answers to that question—but he doesn't have any answers that would satisfy Sunggyu. _Waiting_ and _hoping_ aren't enough for him, Dongwoo knows. If they were he would be reading, and studying, and writing, and searching, and sleeping with strangers.

"It's so stupid," Sunggyu says.

Dongwoo doesn't think it's stupid. What they have may not be much, but it's what they're capable of. They're trying, and that's what matters.

But just trying has never been enough for Sunggyu, either.

His shoulders are rounded, and his hair is stringy with sweat and rain. Beneath his damp t-shirt Dongwoo can see the lines of his body: a body accidental, a body he likely does not want, a body that represents—has always represented—everything he has to sacrifice just to feel normal.

"I miss them," he says.

It's not what he means—not exactly. There's more to it than that, but Dongwoo knows that's all Sunggyu will ever be able to say. That's okay. He doesn't need him to say anything more.

"I know," Dongwoo says.

"Sometimes I wish you weren't here," Sunggyu begins, his voice quiet with shame. "You remind me of them."

Dongwoo looks down into his notebook, at all the numbers in their neat rows, the algorithms, the drawings, their fine circles. The eclipse. The transit of Mercury. The occultation of Jupiter.

"I know," he says.

He tries to listen to the rain. Beyond the open window, thunder rumbles in the far distance.

"I think about it every day," Sunggyu begins, angry, "I've thought about it every day since we came here and I still don't know what would have to happen to make me happy again."

Dongwoo frowns. "I don't think anyone knows. I don't think anyone ever did, or ever will."

Sunggyu sighs. He lays his good hand in the blankets beside him and looks over his shoulder. The whites of his eyes flash in the light as he glances toward Dongwoo.

Dongwoo closes his notebook, crawls to him, and takes his hand.

If this were a different time, a different place, maybe he would embrace him. Maybe he would wrap his arms around him, and lay his head on his shoulder, and tell him not to worry so much. But the days when such placations worked are long past. He knows that Sunggyu needs more—that they both need more than blind reassurances. 

Dongwoo feels calm as he puts his other hand on Sunggyu's waist and presses his chest against his back.

"You love me, right?" he asks.

Sunggyu tightens his grip on Dongwoo's hand. "I'm sorry for—"

"I can try to be enough for you," Dongwoo says. "If you want me to."

Sunggyu pauses. "I don't know what that means."

"I mean. I can..." Dongwoo stares at the back of Sunggyu's head as if the right words are hiding in the colors of his hair. "Be more for you."

Sunggyu's breath hitches. Maybe if this were a different time and place, Dongwoo would be afraid he had ruined everything.

It's not. He presses his fingers into Sunggyu's skin.

"You want to?" Sunggyu asks.

Dongwoo sighs.

"I can't love anyone else either, you know."

He almost says more: almost says how hard it is for him, to have only the moon and the stars and know it's all he'll ever be sure of. To want to love other people but to have lost the ability to take the risk.

Maybe Sunggyu isn't the person he thought he would be with. Maybe Sunggyu can't give him all the things he's always wanted. But maybe Sunggyu can be enough.

"I think—" he begins, but then Sunggyu has turned around to face him, and Dongwoo is staring into his eyes, hard and narrow and churning.

Dongwoo doesn't even think about it. He hadn't wanted it before, but he wants it now. He leans forward and presses their lips together.

Sunggyu inhales. Dongwoo tilts his head, opens his mouth, moves against him. After a moment Sunggyu sighs, relaxes, and kisses him back.

Sunggyu keeps his hands to himself. Dongwoo cradles his head in his hands as their kisses deepen, then moves them down his chest as they bite at each other's lips, then squeezes his bare thighs when Sunggyu sucks on his tongue.

"This is weird," Sunggyu says when they break apart, voice breathy against Dongwoo's cheek.

"You're hard," Dongwoo says. "You like it."

"I haven't—" Sunggyu begins, but doesn't finish his sentence.

Dongwoo knows what he was going to say anyway. That he hasn't touched another soul in months, that lately he's been too sad to even jerk off, that he feels like an old man even though he's only twenty-six.

Dongwoo doesn't need excuses. "I don't care," he says, and he doesn't.

It's a natural progression from there. Sunggyu lays a hand on Dongwoo's stomach after Dongwoo pulls off his shirt. He touches Dongwoo's elbow gently when Dongwoo wraps his hand around his cock. He keeps his eyes closed and breathes deeply and makes no sounds of approval or disapproval as Dongwoo strokes him slow and hard.

They grow closer gradually. Dongwoo pulls himself halfway into Sunggyu's lap, and Sunggyu puts one hand on Dongwoo's side. Dongwoo's heart stops when Sunggyu runs his hand down over his hip: bony now, but still wide and curving softly, invitingly. He has to concentrate hard on moving his hand when Sunggyu trails his fingers over his ass, teasing lightly through the fabric of his sweatpants. His fingers wander further: down, down, slowly, towards the heat at the junction of his thighs.

Dongwoo thinks suddenly about Sunggyu and the library girl. He doesn't know her name, and that's for the best, but he knows what she looks like, and it's easy to imagine her beneath him. It's easy to imagine Sunggyu's body moving as he fucks her: his back, his thighs, his arms, his shoulders, her legs around his waist. It's easy to imagine him inside of her.

Dongwoo shivers; his cock throbs; he wants more. He wants to say Sunggyu's name but dare not speak. Instead he tightens his grip and twists his wrist and quickens his pace. Sunggyu moans and his hand goes lower and then he's touching the very inside of Dongwoo's thigh. "Hyung," Dongwoo gasps against his lips.

Sunggyu's hand stills.

"No," Dongwoo says. "Keep going. It's fine—it's good."

After a moment, sitting and listening to the rain, Sunggyu does.

Dongwoo ends up naked, on his knees, turned around in Sunggyu's lap, facing the window and watching the rain and reeling from the sensation of Sunggyu inside him.

"Have you done this before?" Sunggyu asks, breath rustling in Dongwoo's hair.

"No," Dongwoo says. It's true enough.

"Okay," Sunggyu responds, voice cracking at the edges. "Okay. Tell me... if it's good or not."

He fucks him with purpose—or he tries to, at least. It vacillates, from focused and determined and steady to erratic and desperate. Sunggyu will murmur curses against his back in one moment and whisper promises into his ear the next.

Every couple of minutes he asks Dongwoo if he's okay. "Good?" he breathes. "Feels good?"

It's good. It's so good he's dizzy, like he's floating away, like he's in the clouds, like he's being blown by trade winds over the city, out of control but not much caring, because he's looking down on a world gone peaceful and empty. The sky is empty too, but at least the sky was made to be empty.

Sunggyu stops asking once it's obvious that it's good, after Dongwoo has fallen forward onto his hands and knees and buried his face in the sheets. He doesn't even know why it's good. It's like there's something deep inside him that's warm and heavy, dense and growing denser with every stroke, spinning like a dark star threatening to collapse.

"Harder," he says.

Sunggyu pauses, and for a moment the world stops turning—but then he pushes Dongwoo down flat and lays over him and wraps an arm under his chest, and when he starts moving again it's like Dongwoo's very molecules are being torn apart.

"Sunggyu," he gasps, "Sunggyu."

Sunggyu, Sunggyu, Sunggyu, his leader, even now. Sunggyu inside him, Sunggyu around him, Sunggyu here with him in ways he's never been before, ways Dongwoo hadn't known he'd wanted. He thinks about Sunggyu on stage, he thinks about Sunggyu at home, he thinks about Sunggyu sneaking pastries from green rooms and fixing his hair in rear view mirrors and looking off into the dark distant reaches of concert halls.

He feels Sunggyu's body—his chest, his shoulders, his skin—and thinks about the spaces carved out inside them where their old worlds used to live. In that instant he knows what it means to fill those spaces back up again, and it's as sure as the sun and the stars. Maybe there will be gaps. But maybe he's only pretending there weren't any gaps in the first place.

He takes Sunggyu's good hand in his own. Sunggyu presses his lips against his ear.

"Dongwoo," he says.

Names are magical things, Dongwoo knows: incantations, spells to conjure people. They tear time apart, pulling ghosts up from the deep—he feels himself coming open at the seams as Sunggyu speaks into his ear and summons him. Dongwoo, Dongwoo, Dongwoo: the person he is, and not just the people he wishes he could be.

When he comes it's like falling into singularity. Reality crumbles to pieces and then comes back together again when he takes his next breath and hears Sunggyu coming too, gasping into his hair.

He surfaces to the sound of thunder. Their legs are tangled together; the sheets below him are wet and sticky with their effort. He feels empty, and above him, Sunggyu feels heavy and full.

The sun has not yet set—its light is green through the storm. Dongwoo knows that beyond the clouds the moon is rising. Tomorrow it will be full.

Tomorrow it will be full, and Sunggyu is crying against his shoulder. The rest is lost, but he's not sure, anymore, if it matters.


End file.
